Three Is Company: Nob, Bob, and Barliman
by megSUPERFAN
Summary: The events of Bree, from a very reliable source: The Prancing Pony, the inn of Bree itself! A collection of random stories concerning the three title characters, visitors at the inn, and maybe a few unexpected strangers...
1. Black Men At Bree

**Nob**

The inn was busy that night, the master rushing around as fast as his stout legs would carry him, serving beer and food, greeting new visitors, and occasionally listening to a story told by the gossipers of Bree. Big and Little folk alike, it didn't matter, anyone would would love the warmth and company of the inn. Nob stood by, half-eavesdropping on an interesting and funny tale about Mr. Mugwort trying on shoes. With his other ear he listened for Master Butterbur's call; Nob was often needed. Everyone knew the master was a busy man.

Sure enough: "Nob! You slowcoach, where'd you get off to? Come get the supper ready, and make it quick!" Nob grinned, shook his head, and made off.

"Coming, sir!"

It was later in the evening, that same night. The guests had gone to their beds, or at least to their rooms, and the common room was slowly emptying as the fire died down. Mr. Butterbur called for Nob to clear the tables and went upstairs. He was indeed a very busy man, and he was anxious to get some sleep. Nob obeyed, yawning. It had been a busy day for him, too.

He had finished clearing the plates and mugs and washed the dishes, and was just heading to his own small back room on the ground floor, as hobbits preferred, when there came a sharp but soft knock on the door. Nob had good ears, and he stopped what he was doing, puzzled. No one usually arrived this late. Maybe guests off the Road? The knock came again, no mistaking it this time, much louder. Nob sighed and went to the door. He opened it.

"Good evening, sir, what-" he stopped. These weren't ordinary men. Black hoods, black cloaks, black horses in the yard. A hideous whisper came from one of them, mysterious and awful.

"Baggins," it hissed. "Baggins; where is he?"

Sudden fear ran through Nob, and he slammed the door and was running before he could think. Those Men couldn't possibly be real... he shivered. What was wrong with him? No other guest had frightened him like this, even when those strange Southerners had started coming to the inn up the Greenway a few days back.

He pounded on his master's door. "Mr. Butterbur, master!" His voice trembled. "Master!" Butterbur creaked open the door quickly and with his bleary eyes took in the shaking hobbit.

"Nob, what's the matter with you?" Nob found he couldn't speak for several seconds. "What is it? I haven't got time for this?"

At last the hobbit managed to get out a few words. "Black men, sir. At the door. They- They're asking for _Baggins,_ sir, and I don't know-" he couldn't finish. Mr. Butterbur looked at Nob quivering in fear before him and shook his head. He put his hand on the small hobbit's shoulder and spoke quietly.

"You get on to bed now, Nob. I'll deal with 'em." Nob nodded, still too afraid to do anything else. His master went downstairs, and Nob followed, turning down the hall to his own room. He couldn't sleep for a long time, not till the heavy footsteps of Butterbur traveled back upstairs and the door creaked closed. He sighed.

His dreams were horrible that night.

 **So ends the first chapter! How was it? Don't hesitate to review; they make my day! More is coming!**


	2. Apples

**Nob**

 **A/N: I've always, always, ALWAYS wanted Nob and Sam to be friends! Hence this story. :)**

Nob noticed Sam looking at the barrel of apples in the corner of the room hungrily. "You want a few for the road?" Sam jumped a little, startled, then shrugged.

"I reckon I would. I grow 'em back home for Mr. Frodo, but it's been awhile since I'd eaten one."

Nob looked at him. "You can take as much as you want. We've got a full store of 'em." Sam's eyes widened, and he took a few from the barrel unabashed.

"Do you grow them here, in Bree?"

Nob shook his head with a low laugh. "Not me, no. Nor does anyone in the chief village, I don't think. Maybe in Archet, there's orchards. I've never been even that far myself..." He stopped. Sam was eating an apple and watching Nob thoughtfully, perhaps thinking of his own travels.

"You live in the inn, then, with Mr. Butterbur?"

"I do, yes," said Nob. "Don't you live in with your master?"

It was Sam's turn to shake his head, swallowing a bite of apple. "No, not with him, but just down the road a bit. With my dad, sisters, brother's stoppin' in from time to time. Haven't you got a family, Nob?"

The Bree-hobbit nodded. "Yes, don't see them much nowadays, what with work and all, but they're fairly close by." He took an apple for himself out of the barrel, and the two hobbits ate in companionable silence.

-.-.-.-.-

A few hours later that day, Nob had got ready breakfast for the guests (he wasn't the best cook, but in his mind any hobbit could make a respectable breakfast). They had plainly enjoyed it at any rate, especially the youngest of the four, Master Took; where did he put all that food? Sam restocked his pockets with more apples because nobody seemed to mind, while the others talked among themselves. Bob and that Strider fellow went out to ready the pony. Nob had never known what to make of Strider; he'd been to the inn often enough, but somehow he'd remained mysterious.

And the pony... It was a poor beast, and Nob had never seen it before. He wondered where the notorious Ferny had gotten it from. Surely nobody would sell any creature to him? But perhaps the pony's surviving Bill Ferny was proof it could hold its own well enough in the Wild. Sam seemed to take to the bedraggled animal at once, talking to it softly and kindly, and what's more, feeding it a couple of his precious apples out of his pocket. Nob laughed to himself. He liked Sam a lot; he'd be sorry to see him go.

He had got up the courage finally, just before the guests left, to ask Sam just what exactly was going on, for Nob had been wondering about their business ever since they'd arrived.

"Where are you all even going, Sam?" he asked. Sam looked wary all of a sudden. The whole incident in the common room had probably gotten him suspicious of such questions.

"It's Mr. Frodo's business, not really mine," was all he said. Nob was still curious, but as Sam seemed reluctant to talk about it, he let the matter go. Anyway, he was sure his master knew something about it; he could ask him later. Instead, he posed another question, a little hesitantly.

"Are you coming back after?" The look on Sam's face showed plainly he hadn't thought about that for a while, if at all before.

"I don't know, to be honest, Nob. I aim to, but if Master doesn't, then I don't." Nob understood that, though he'd never traveled like Sam had.

"Come on, Sam, we're going!" called Mr. Baggins suddenly from the doorway. Sam immediately turned to leave, with a last look at the slightly smaller hobbit in front of him.

Neither knew what to say. At last Sam spoke. "I'll try and get back, Nob, though I don't rightly know what way I'll be going." Nob didn't know how to answer. He nodded. Sam hoisted his large pack up on his shoulders and followed his master.

.-.-.-.-.-

Nob was among the crowd that gathered to see the visitors off. He figured Master Butterbur wouldn't miss him right away. After all, every guest was out of the inn and along the road.

Being small even for a hobbit, Nob shoved his way through most of the townsfolk to the front of the mob. He didn't need to prick his ears to hear what was being said, or more often shouted:

"You've brought your tricks and danger to Bree, and you'd do well to take 'em away with you!"

"They'll never last a day with that Ranger."

"Look at him, hasn't washed in years, they say."

"The pony's from Ferny, I hear... Looks half-dead."

"Aye. And did you hear what happened in the inn last night?"

"Mighty queer business..."

"Me, I'm just glad they're leavin'."

Nob didn't pay too much attention to what was said. Strider anyhow looked annoyed with it, glaring at whoever spoke too loudly. Small wonder no one came too close.

The strangers, followed by the jeering crowd and a few harmless villagers, made their way towards the gate and out of Bree. Before they reached it, however, Bill Ferny, standing at his house near the end of the Road, halted them.

"Don't you know who you've taken up with?" he spat at the hobbits. "That's stick-at-naught Strider, that is, though I've heard other names not so pretty."

Strider's glare didn't seem to have an effect on Ferny. The man laughed harshly. He turned to Sam, and Nob grew tense. "And you, Sammie," Ferny leered, "don't you go mistreating my poor old pony! Pah!" He spat again, this time near Sam's feet.

The apple left Sam's hand before Nob could blink. It hit Bill Ferny in the nose, and the burly-looking man ducked behind his hedge too late. Nob tried and failed to stifle his laughter.

 **How was it? Review if you liked it; nothing makes me happier!**

 **(This has been updated slightly in response to a review from Aria Breuer- many thanks for the criticism! It was most helpful.)**


	3. A Stablemate

**I could not resist a kitty story. :) [NOTE: these chapters are not in chronological order.]**

"Bob ought to learn his cat the fiddle." ~ _The Fellowship of the Ring, At the Sign of the Prancing Pony_

.

 **Bob**

Bob knelt down and reached out a hand to the scraggly kitten crouched behind the manger. "Come now, creature. Get out from there." The kitten stayed put, silent, blinking its dark eyes. Bob sighed, remaining where he was. "I won't harm you. Come."

He reached a little farther. The cat hissed. "None o' that," Bob chided, though he did withdraw his hand. An indignant meow came from behind the manger.

Bob sat for a while thinking. Then he got up. "Don't you move," he added to the cat. A tail twitched, but whether it was an answer or no, he couldn't tell.

Soon Bob was back with a somewhat medium-sized piece of fish. "Don't tell a soul," he whispered to the kitten softly, his eyes twinkling. "You're a good kit, haven't budged an inch, have you. Nob snuck into the kitchen to get you this nice bit o' dinner. Go on, eat up." It took a few minutes, but at last a tentative paw reached out, then another, then a dark-furred face with matted whiskers. The little animal slunk forward and began nibbling the fish.

Bob watched from a short distance. "A sweet little cat you are. Fierce too, I don't doubt." The cat looked up. Bob continued. "You know, we can't be snitchin' you fish every meal. We have mice aplenty around to keep you fed, if you can catch 'em."

The fish finished, the cat jumped onto a stall door to wash. Bob laughed to himself. "All right then." He walked slowly toward the kitten. It froze. Very, very, slowly, Bob reached out his hand. He ran his fingers along the faint dark grey pattern of the animal's back. The cat shied away after enduring this behavior for three seconds. It leaped down and fled behind the manger again.

Bob shook his head, but he smiled. "All in good time. You begin work tomorrow."

.

 **Just a short tidbit this time. How was it?**


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